Arrow of the Cimarron
by unicorn-skydancer08
Summary: The story of Spirit’s son, and his journey through the timeless American frontier.
1. Prologue

**ARROW OF THE CIMARRON**

_I am a __HUGE __fan of _Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron_. I'm a major horse nut, as well as a nut for awesome traditional animation—or, "tradigital", as they put it. Ever wondered what happened after Spirit and Rain made it to the Cimarron herd in the end? The story that you're about to read is my personal theory of what takes place after that time in the movie. Read, and review, please! _

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_**Spirit © Dreamworks Animation**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved.**  
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Prologue**

My name is Arrow. You may have heard of my father, Spirit: lead stallion of the Cimarron herd, and renowned legend of the American West. My mother, Rain, was (and still is, to this day) the lead mare of the Cimarron herd. Though she had not accomplished the sort of feats that my father had, she was still recognized in her own way. Everyone in our herd loved and admired her, just as they loved and admired my father—as they do today. Someday, I shall become the new leader of the Cimarron. Someday, it shall be my time to lead, guide, and protect our little group. Until then, I am content to simply live my life as it is, to walk with my father and learn what I can from him.

From how my father and I interact today, you likely would never have guessed that there used to be a great rift between us; for a good number of years, in fact.

I am not proud to admit it, but it is true. I have no wish to arouse old wounds, yet they say that we can, and must, learn from our past. It is through our mistakes that we grow and develop, through our trials and hardships that our true characters are molded. Therefore, I will explain to you all that has happened.

As it is with all stories, it is best to start from the very beginning.

So, let me take you back to the days of my early youth, to the time when life was sweet and simple enough, before difficult times came along and stripped all the innocence away…


	2. Chapter 1: The Birth

**ARROW OF THE CIMARRON**

_And now we proceed with the very first chapter of the story! Yet another story to maintain and keep track of, along with everything else—but I'll muddle through, somehow. Read, review, and enjoy!_

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_**Spirit © Dreamworks Animation**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved.**  
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**Chapter 1: The Birth**

Like my father before me, and like his father before him, I was born in the land that men would ultimately come to call the Old West. From the way we horses viewed it, however, the land had neither a beginning nor an end. Just like my father, I was born in the springtime, in a beautiful meadow of cool, lush green grass, peppered with sweet wildflowers, where a wide river of pure water flowed through. From what I learned, my mother had a difficult time with the labor. She must have lain there in the grass and whinnied in pain for what must have been at least three hours. My father and my grandmother, Esperanza, kept watch over her the whole time, while the rest of the herd grazed peacefully, interacting quietly with one another.

At length, my father got down in the grass and lay by my mother's side, trying to help her feel more at ease.

My mother only continued to scrape the earth with her hooves, positively shrieking with every agonizing pang that accompanied my birth.

At long last, I came into the world.

Like my mother, I am a brown pinto, with patches of snow-white here and there, save my eyes are brown rather than blue. Also, I have three jet-black stockings like my father, and one snow-white stocking like my mother. According to the other horses, I lay quite still after my mother delivered me. For one terrible moment, all feared I had not survived the birthing. My grandmother approached me at length and nuzzled my tiny face gently with her velvet snout, trying to rouse me. Eventually, to everyone's relief, I began to stir, and my eyes slowly opened.

My grandmother is a palomino, with a coat of pure gold, a creamy mane, and a blazing white streak on her face. When I saw her for the first time, I thought at first in my young mind that this was my mother. But then my real mother brought her head in and kissed me, gently scrubbing at my damp coat and mane with her tongue and muzzle, trying to keep me warm.

Then I saw my father.

My father is unusually handsome, for a horse. He is what men call a Kiger mustang. His coat is a deep, shining gold like my grandmother's, except his mane and tail are solid black.

His mane is very long, falling well below his neck, trailing constantly into his eyes. As I have hinted before, he has black stockings on his legs, which are very powerful and look like they could kill a wolf or a mountain lion with a single kick. He also has a dark patch on the end of his muzzle, and his eyes match my own almost perfectly.

At length, the whole herd gathered around us in a circle. Everyone seemed immensely pleased to see me. At first, I was overwhelmed by all the attention I was receiving, but then my father gently motioned for everyone to be on their way. So, while the herd broke up and set off in individual directions (but taking care to not venture too far), and while my grandmother set off to graze and my father headed away to keep watch for danger, my mother nudged me to my hooves, then slowly arose herself, beckoning me to follow her.

Like all newborn colts, I could not walk properly—not at first, anyway. My legs were very long and very awkward, and I could scarcely stand, let alone walk.

Every time I tried to take a step, I would crumple to the ground. Occasionally I managed to take more than one step at a time, but then my legs would quit and I'd end up falling again.

But my mother was very patient with me. She seemed to understand perfectly what it was like to learn to walk for the first time. She would always wait for me, and whenever I fell down, she would simply touch me lightly with her muzzle and nicker softly into my ear, encouraging me to try again.

At long last, I managed to move myself along without completely falling. As time progressed, I began to get the hang of walking.

In time, I learned to be grateful for those legs, for they would serve me well in times ahead—and more than once, they would end up saving my life.


	3. Chapter 2: In the Beginning

**ARROW OF THE CIMARRON**

_Presenting chapter 2! It's a bit of a quickie, but still good nonetheless, and it's a real cliffhanger! Read on, my friends, read on! Don't forget to leave your feedback!  
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_**Spirit © Dreamworks Animation**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved.**  
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**Chapter 2: In the Beginning**

For the first few days of my life, I stayed as close to my mother as I possibly could. As I was too young to eat grass, I lived on my mother's milk. By the time I was old enough to feed on grass, I would always feed alongside my mother in the meadows. Every night, I always curled up next to her, and slept soundly by her side.

As time went on, and I grew and matured, I still stuck to my mother; but I began to develop my own ideas of what we ought to do. Whenever I wanted to do something, and my mother would just stand there, I would rear up, leap about in circles, and whinny impatiently, even pull at her thick mane with my strong little teeth. Hurry up, I would say; let's _go,_ already!

Once, in my excitement and impetuosity, I accidentally nipped my mother in the ear, quite hard, making her squeal out loud.

Immediately, I regretted what I'd just done. I was very afraid she would be cross with me, but she merely gave her head a shake, snorted, and made no mention of it afterwards.

As I grew older, I began spending more and more time with my grandmother. She is just as patient and sweet-natured as my mother, or any other mare for miles around, and naturally I grew very fond of her. She would often take me on long walks, whenever my mother needed some time to herself. My grandmother would show me how to look for all sorts of good things to eat—and how to avoid certain things that proved harmful to a horse. As for my father, I must admit I was rather intimidated by him at first; he was so big, so tall, strong and imposing, that I feared to anger or annoy him. One time, in the early days of my youth, when my father came galloping up to me, I was so startled that I ran and cowered under my mother's belly.

But as I grew up, I slowly became accustomed to him. I wish I could say that my father and I developed a very close relationship with each other, that we got along extremely well.

Not so, really. Oh, sure, we respected each other well enough, and my father was always there to protect me from harm.

Little did I know, however, that things would ultimately take a turn for the worst between us.


	4. Chapter 3: Son of the Stallion

**ARROW OF THE CIMARRON**

_Presenting chapter 3! I'm so sorry for keeping you guys waiting like this. Writer's block, man…it's a killer. But I swear to get this thing done, if it's the last thing I do!  
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_**Spirit © Dreamworks Animation**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved.**  
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**Chapter 3: Son of the Stallion**

As leader of the Cimarron herd, it was my father's duty to watch out for us, to keep us safe from predators and other perils of the wilderness. It was both his and my mother's solemn obligation to lead us and guide us, and we helped them out by not straying too far from the herd, or wandering aimlessly to places we shouldn't go. I repent that I must tell you this, and I sincerely ask you all in advance to forgive me, to not think too poorly of me…but I was never satisfied with remaining solely with the herd, of doing everything I was told to do. It wasn't that I was deliberately trying to be a bad horse. But I was young, I had a fiery spirit and an indomitable heart about me, and I resented anything that tied me down or held me back.

There are two reasons why my name is Arrow. For one thing, there is a small white patch on my left hindquarter that is shaped roughly like an arrowhead.

And secondly, I am like an arrow: once I'm off, I'm off, and there is almost nothing to stop me or discourage me from my course.

In my early youth, I was constantly getting myself into trouble, most especially with my father.

At first, it was nothing too serious. But had I listened to my father and to the other horses, had I heeded their warnings, things may have turned out a different way for all of us. Yet I refused to take their counsel to heart, and went about living my life the way I saw fit, which proved to be a great distress to my entire family as well as my parents. As the years went by, my father and I started getting along with each other less and less. I am nothing short of ashamed to admit it, but it is the solemn truth. My father grew frustrated with my insolence, I began resenting his stubbornness and his domination over me. I got sick of him and all his rules and restrictions, which I narrow-mindedly viewed as a means of keeping me from doing what I wanted and enjoying my life. For the longest time, I saw my father as the sole source of all our contention. Yet now, looking back, I see that it was every bit as much my fault, if not more.

I'll never forget what happened that fateful day, long ago, the day that changed everything…


	5. Chapter 4: An Unfortunate Mistake

**ARROW OF THE CIMARRON**

_After almost five solid months, I've __finally__ put up a new chapter for this story. For those of you who may have worried that I'd quit this story, I promise just the opposite is true. I'll admit I've been slower with this story than most of the others. But like I said before, I haven't given up on a story yet. I thank you people wholeheartedly for your patience, and I'm most deeply sorry for my procrastination. Once again, I hope the overall quality of the story compensates for the drawn-out delay. Happy reading, guys, and I promise the next chapter won't take me another five months to write! _

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_**Spirit © Dreamworks Animation**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved.**  
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**Chapter 4: An Unfortunate Mistake**

It all started one sweltering summer day, in about my fifth year or so. All the other horses were dozing peacefully in the cool shade of the trees. Even my father stood in the shade, next to my mother, though he was wise enough to keep his head up, his ears pricked, and his eyes peeled for danger. My mother leaned against his strong body, with her white muzzle resting against his golden neck. He nuzzled her on occasion, and nickered gently into her ear. My grandmother stood not too far from them, with her head so low that her nose brushed the grass. Some of the horses stood on all fours, with their heads bowed like my grandmother's, while some lay on the soft grass, with their legs tucked beneath them.

I, on the other hand, being the restless whirlwind that I was, could not bring myself to rest quietly like the rest of the lot. So, I let my energy loose by galloping about the meadow, from one end to the other, just as hard as I could go. I made sure to gallop a fair distance from the horses, so that I didn't disturb their rest, but I begrudgingly remained close enough to where my father could see me, and make sure I didn't get into mischief. My energy stimulated some of the younger colts, some of them not much older than foals.

One by one, they ended up joining me in the race. I was not particularly pleased to have a gaggle of colts trailing after me, but it did give me an excuse to lead on a merry chase.

Together, we stampeded across the sweeping valley, with me leading the way. We splashed through a brook, leaped over rocks and mossy logs, and pounded over a rolling knoll in the earth. Some of the colts could hardly keep up with the rest of us, but they appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. Of course, I easily outran the whole group. To me, there is nothing in the world to compare to running. When I am running at my utmost speed, with nothing to restrict me or block my way, I feel like I'm flying, as if I have wings instead of hooves.

Whether in rain or in sunlight, it's all perfectly glorious.

As we galloped through our homeland, I heard a wind-torn screech overheard, and I looked up to see the eagle that once guided my father gliding over us. For one splendid moment, I felt just as wild and free as that magnificent bird. My pride and recklessness got the better of me, and I ventured out much farther than I ought to have done.

Naturally, the colts followed me, one after the other. I led them near a thick cluster of trees, where we practiced our jumps.

I sorely regret what happened next.

During the midst of our fun, we heard a sharp, menacing snarl that was enough to stop the heart and chill the blood. Then, before I even realized what was happening, a whole pack of wild wolves sprang from the trees and attacked us! We had gotten too close to their territory, and now we were in deep trouble. At first, I tried to fight the wolves off myself, but there were too many of them, and every one of them possessed razor-sharp claws and teeth that can maim a horse in no time. One of them slashed me across the shoulder, leaving several bloody gashes behind. It wasn't enough to cripple me, but it did leave me with a nasty scar that I still carry today, and will undoubtedly maintain for the rest of my life.

When I saw that I couldn't take on the beasts, I tried driving the colts to safety. I whinnied at them with all my might and lunged at them, goading them all into a desperate gallop.

But even as we fled for our lives, the wolves came after us, barking and snapping their murderous jaws.

One poor little colt that had not even completed his first year ended up falling behind. Two or three wolves pounced on him, all at once, and wrestled him to the ground. To this day, I can still hear the poor colt's terrified squeals, along with the awful sound of the wolves' blood-lust. I tried to save the colt, but the other wolves swooped in on me and started piling on me.

Then, as if out of nowhere, my father appeared, and plunged straight into the fray. With amazing strength and swiftness, he snatched one of the wolves that assaulted the colt by the scruff of its neck with his strong teeth, and he hurled the brute away. Then he kicked the remaining two wolves with his powerful hooves, making them both yelp.

Using every ounce of his strength and will, my father fought and ultimately drove away each and every wolf, until they had all slunk off into the wood where they belonged, now howling and whimpering like sniveling whelps. When the last one had gone, my father blew out a fierce snort through his flared nostrils.

The battle was over, just as quickly as it had begun.

Fortunately, we were all alive and in one piece.

But the little colt that I had so foolishly led astray, the one who was mercilessly attacked, had been very badly injured in the right hind leg. Blood oozed from the wounds the wolves had left behind, all the way down his leg. He was still able to stand, but he moved with a terrible limp, and he could never take one step without cringing in agony.

To say that I felt guilty for what I'd just done would be like saying the Colorado River is only a trickle, that the Rocky Mountains are but a mere string of pebbles. I felt absolutely horrible—my insides literally burned, as if a fire were consuming me. I couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe how stupid and foolish I had been. My whole body was completely numb with shock. For the first time in my life, I understood, truly understood, just what my father and my mother and all of the other horses had been warning me about for years.

My rebellion had caused great harm to other horses; worse, it had very nearly cost a life.

Then my father did something that he had never done before. He reared up so suddenly that his front hoof grazed my face, causing me to flinch and back away from him at once. He plunged briefly to all fours before rearing again, whinnying as I had never heard him whinny before. His ears were pinned firmly against his skull. His eyes were literally on fire. I had never seen a horse so angry. It actually frightened me, and though I was nearly as big as my father was, and almost as strong, I did not hesitate to back down, trying to get out of his way.

But he came after me, his handsome face contorted in an ugly snarl. I could clearly see the whites around his eyes, and the flash of his teeth.

He wheeled around and actually kicked at me. He kicked at me a second time, and one of his hooves ended up bruising me in the chest. I whinnied in pain and protest, but he paid this no mind.

Then, suddenly, just as quickly as my father had started, he stopped, and he now turned and left me alone. I stood where I was for a time, not daring to move a muscle.

My whole body was shaking, like a leaf caught in a storm. My breathing emerged in harsh, ragged gasps. My lean, strong legs felt ready to give out from under me.

I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't _believe_ it. I understood it was a very serious thing I'd done, putting the colts in such grave danger, but I never would have expected my father to react in such a way, either. Despite our disputations, my father had never actually gotten physically violent with me, no matter how bad things got between us.

It shook me to my very roots.

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If you thought things were bad at that time, you would be surprised. The trouble had only just begun for me.

After that ugly incident, my father ignored me completely, as well as all of the other horses in the herd. The mother of the injured colt was clearly as furious with me as my father was. She refused to so much as look in my direction. Occasionally the little colt would glance at me, but his mother or some other horse would usher him away, and he would go about hobbling with great pain. It wounded my heart to see him in his condition, most especially to know this was all my fault. Worst of all, my father would let me nowhere near the herd. I was never driven completely from the land, but my father always saw to it that there was a safe distance between me and the other horses. Whenever I got too close, my father would rush at me, an ominous glare in his eyes, and I would either stop dead, or turn and run for it. Once or twice my father gave a brief chase, before stopping and returning to the others, leaving me to myself.

None of the other horses would have anything to do with me.

Whenever one of them turned toward me, and I would prick up my ears hopefully, they would flatten their own and give me a most unpleasant stare, and I'd drop my head in shame.

Only my mother and my grandmother alone seemed to understand, and to sympathize. But my father would not let them anywhere near me, either. Strangely enough, I could never bring myself to face them. Once I caught my mother's gaze, and she looked at me so kindly, so lovingly, but I could make out grave disappointment in her bright blue eyes.

I just closed my own eyes, and abjectly moved my head away to avoid looking at her.


	6. Chapter 5: Running Away

**ARROW OF THE CIMARRON**

_Hey, look! Another chapter—and only a little over a week after posting the last one! Woo-hoo! I told ya so! _

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Spirit © Dreamworks Animation_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

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Chapter 5: Running Away**

For many long days that crawled like worms, I was kept apart from the herd, even forced to sleep apart from them at night. Every day, my heart grew heavier. I was a vagabond, an outcast in my own family. I knew this was nothing I didn't deserve, but it still pained me all the same.

But nothing in all the world could make me feel worse than knowing I had almost killed a poor, helpless colt. As for that little colt, his pain grew worse at first, but then, very slowly, little by little, it began to ease off as his wound healed. His limp began to improve steadily, though his leg was still considerably stiff, and he still winced on occasion when he walked. His mother refused to forgive me for what I had done to her son, and I couldn't say I blamed her.

Even as the colt was making progress, my father still forbade me from joining the rest of the herd, and he showed no sign of having forgiven me. Whenever our eyes met, he would simply flatten his ears at me, and he would lash his tail in my direction as he turned away. I would just sigh and turn away myself, or bow my head so that my mane spilled down into my face, hiding my eyes.

I lost my love for running, and my once voracious appetite dwindled. Some days, I picked little more than a few meager strands of grass.

Once or twice my mother attempted to come to me, to comfort me, but my father always bolted ahead of her and refused to let her near me. It hurt me to see my father block my mother's way and whinny or snort at her. All my life, I had seen him act lovingly and respectfully toward her. My grandmother never dared attempt to cross my father's path, but she would sometimes spare me a compassionate glance, and I could never bear to look at her sweet face.

The days passed, each day seeming like an eternity for me.

Finally, one cool moonlit night, while the other horses slept close together and my father kept an extra close watch on them, while I remained a good distance from them, as always, I couldn't take it anymore. If this was the way things were going to be, I thought to myself, maybe I would be better off on my own. The other horses would certainly be better off without me, and my father would be more than glad to see the last of me. And so I decided then and there that I would run away, seek my own homeland, and start a herd all my own.

With that in mind, I promptly rose and took off at a swift gallop. Since I was moving away from the herd, not toward it, no one else bothered coming after me, let alone my father.

I galloped as long and hard as I could into the night, never once looking back. I crossed over grassy meadows and rolling hills, and pounded my way across a flat field of sagebrush. As I came to a dark cluster of pines and aspens, I stopped for a short rest, and a drink. There was a small stream of cold, clean water rushing nearby, and so I rested there on the quiet bank and drank my fill. When I was sated, I listened to the night sounds around me for another few minutes.

For one brief yet intense moment, my loneliness closed in on me, and I began to shake. I had never run away from home before. What would I do without my herd, my family? I had always dreamed of being independent, of being free and unbound to anyone or anything…but now that I was actually on my own, I began to have second thoughts.

I shook my head to snap myself out of it and stamped a forehoof on the hard earth, telling myself stubbornly this was for the best. I had run away, I said, and I was never going back.

I never could go back. I could never show my face in the herd again.

A strange noise sounded quite close by right then, making me jump a little. I didn't recognize the sound, and I didn't understand the cause of it.

It didn't sound anything like the forest. It didn't sound like any animal I was accustomed to.

Then my sharp nostrils caught a strange whiff of smoke, mingled with some other foreign smell that I couldn't identify, and my eye caught an eerie reddish-orange speck in the trees. For one alarming moment, I thought the trees had caught fire, and I nearly fled for my life on the spot.

But then something made me stop and stand still.

Rather than growing brighter, the light seemed to be getting dimmer and dimmer, until I could barely see it at all anymore.

Leveling off my ears, I decided maybe I ought to check this out. So, moving slowly and quietly, I made my way through the dark, toward the trees. Had I known beforehand the consequences that would follow, I would have obeyed my first impulse as a wild horse, and run far away in the opposite direction.


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